Wistaria
by Pup-Ashbless
Summary: He sees the past and knows only then that it’s all in the future; philosophy in the making.// Lavi centric Gen Twoshot


**Wistaria** by **Yofune-Nushi**

Disclaimer: Hoshino owns it, except this fic.

Pairings: None.

Summary: He sees the past and knows only then that it's all in the future; philosophy in the making.// Lavi centric [Gen Twoshot]

Warnings: Some character death, sorta. Some rushed/confusion on some parts, characterization that is a little OOC perhaps, ect.

LavixPhilosophy… Is it possible?

* * *

**Beginning of (1/2)**

There was a time when Bookman had told him that he had a long ways to go before he ever became the next true Bookman himself. He hadn't understood just how long he had to go before he was even feeling confident about himself about actually what he assumed was a true bookman in more than just title and talent in any and all situations.

The again, perhaps Bookman had not either?

He supposed he could blame his own philosophies. After all he was starting to feel philosophy wasn't all that grand or insightful as it was a mighty chip that smugly dug and tore into your shoulder during every insufferable second when trying to use it in your favor.

What was that saying again?

Be careful, less you become spoiled by philosophy…

He wasn't spoiled by many of things he supposed (after all Bookman had taught that spoiling him would cause him to be bias perhaps). But this one area seemed to make him feel like an old rich tax collector who just didn't know when to stop with the dough. Then again, that would mean Bookman himself was a spoiled old crone.

Hmm, wish he could have seen the man's face hearing. Maybe he would have said something differently besides shushing him or stating some intellectual sense that wouldn't sound contrary to the passive questioner?

_~~~*_

_She's here; he's there; for once he has no endearing remark for this occasion. _

_He's swollen, she's numb. _

_The man who is like a boy can not grasp his record with steady hands right now for it is one that he does not wish to temper with ignorance. It's been hours, such long hours since he had been found and dragged back to humanity's clutches for medical aid. Hours, such long hours since he has been alone in a quality of silent deepness neither he nor the girl is willing to break. _

_The girl who has been a woman for longer then she should have been at this point in her life looks more like a girl with her body tucked into the thick bed sheet and her eyes so wide with a piercing gaze so absolute she has no understanding of the world she has helped made just yesterday. _

_He supposes neither does he, or maybe he never did. The world was just so vast he couldn't possibly know all the truth despite what arrogance at thinking he rightfully should. Now he knew even less then before. _

_He should be content. Bookman always seek out truth, now there was possibly even more to discover then before. But instead it all felt like there was now much less. _

_He doesn't want to stay, can't stay. He likes the wind and wants to imitate it more right now then ever before without the nagging fear of doubt that had clung to him since long coming to the Black Order. The warmth of his heat against the bed and the coffee stained mug that has been sitting ever so diligently on the small table beckon him to stay and for a moment he almost gives in. But the anxiety clings to him and he can't help but remember the ending of two records and then he feels the urge to vomit because he said records and not lives. _

_After spitting gunk of wetness upon the floor he tosses the covers clear off him and onto the floor as he places his feet on the cold wooden floor with clumsily channeled energy and almost falls to his knees for surprising his body with his weight so suddenly. _

"_Lavi…" The silent whispering is choked out of the girl's throat. _

"…"

"_Lavi are you there?" She breathes out again with an amount of calm ness that he finds rather disturbing coming from her of all people under these circumstances. He loves her voice, so soft and genuine with hints of purity despite the harshness of her views upon the world that he has been unable to find in another girl her age for as long as he's observed for one and forty-nine life times. Right now he wishes she would just be silent as before and not to interfere. _

_She is silent and not looking in his direction though she is titling her head a little to one side and another as if searching through the dark for something even though it is right in front of her. _

_He thinks about answering; tell her he's right here even though she should know this already. She doesn't deserve this, she of all people right now does not deserve to be left alone just because he could not bring himself to face her when all his weight was still straining him. _

_Gray eyes so soft and so strong blinked within his eyes along with the feel of burnt silk of hair like the limitless night in his hands and his resolve crumbles before it can even take form and he stands to leave without a word to her. _

_Cold fingers desperately find his skin with nails scratching against his still raw wounds and he instinctively smacks feminine hand and stops himself only shortly before any habitual self protective ness kicks in even more. He stays where he is with thoughts of leaving without a word being fogged within his mind by the way her hand limps dejectedly away. Though he is sure it would shoot right back with better accuracy if he tried to leave her again. _

"…_Go back to sleep, Lenalee…please" Just please he thinks because it's one of those times where he can't stand her awake. _

"_You'll leave…" The way she says it so makes him want to rub the wrist that still clung to the tingling sensation of her nails against his raw skin. _

_He thinks of how Gramps is out there, somewhere. For once he doesn't know where and he's not even sure if his connection as a bookman can help him when trying to find the man. That is if Gramps even wanted to be found. _

'_This is not your alias; it's your purpose in your own flesh.' _

_The bookman are nothing but individuals who try to imitate the ghosts that no longer exist and yet can still linger in the world. Once one is gone it's heavenly impossible to find the remains for the ghost will not leave behind any at all. Gramps did not leave any physical evidence for him when it had all come crashing down when Gramps destroyed Junior and rebirth Bookman into him before dissolving his presence from his life with the intent of forever. The red head judged he only had ninety-four hours to find Gramps before the man's trail was lost forever and eighty-two of those had already fallen down on him. _

_Lenalee's eyes are watering and she finally seeks him out, he wonders if she knows yet and how to tell her and know she must bear something he never meant for her to. She wants to say something her mouth can only mouth without the sound pulling out and he lowers his gaze from seeing the silent syllables forming from lips before he can read them. _

_He speaks in a tongue she would never know and like the wind, leaves without his consideration for the struggle her body makes to chase after him like a bird with clipped wings. _

'_Sorry Lenalee,__ Lavi wants to think,__ I'm just too human for your sake.'_

_And for once he doesn't find that as disgraceful as he does just so genuine. _

~~~*

He remembers things like rain on his back. Each time feels different and while you may forget the exact feeling of everyone, you still recall memory with clarity.

He scared of his eye, he sees the moment when he wants to rip off the blasted eye patch that acts as both as a reminder and shield of the thing in his socket.

"Fine!...Fine…" He shouts before mumbling quietly as his hands are snatched away by the taller man.

"No, no do not do that. Less you desire its wrath." Bookman is tall, tall to him and despite not even being near the size of many other man, he still has the quiet primal instinct in his eyes that can quell even the bravest into a state of uncertainty for a period.

"Touch, do not ever touch my face okay." The child mumbles to himself, because it was himself that needed it the most.

"I'll tell you a story." Bookman says. It was not a story of history or fact. But a story pulled from the elder's lips and told even though the child had never heard of such a thing from the man.

A story of two individuals, both belonging to a church; one was a boy and the other was a man. The man was a Priest and the boy was a simple servant who did the chores no one else did.

The Priest was anxious, not physically so much, but in depths of the man's eyes. One saw a life of living in the shadows of others. Not unlike of those the man taught during his daily ceremonies. The priest is ruled by expectations, schedules, and material gain. He prays when he thinks he should and helps others at a certain time. The priest was not a greedy man, just one who never really had ever sought his own way of life for the sake of continuing that of others without question. Lazy in his pursuit of knowledge and only trying to adapt to the tides brought in by others before and around him. The priest was rather inept in that regard. Not horrible, just not in the place he himself may wish to be. The man continued with this life probably knowing in his heart what he was doing was right but never truly stable in just why it is or how his actions may seem contrary or the same to others when they are not.

The boy on the other hand had no knowledge or access to the teachings of the place he is bound to. It's a feeling he is living with yes, but unlike the man his actions that are driven by his feelings never seem contrary with each other. He helps those when they need it, he prays when he feels like it, and he is not ruled completely by the opinions of others. He just seems to act and somehow be able to never find himself in situations that would make him second guess or dull his feelings. It was the way the boy's eyes never dimmed or showed hesitation in his hands as he worked them along. Yet, he too was unaware of the knowledge he could possess to make him powerful and all he ever could be with his potential. The boy was stagnant. He moved each day never regressing or progressing. In a way, the boy was no different from the man whom he worked under. With the exception of being more grounded and stable in his beliefs, but then again the boy was often made into a shadow and overlooked as insignificant.

The man who proclaims salvation but does not have any philosophies that provide stability while the boy who proclaims nothing to the world but has stability in how own philosophy of life to at least be content and non prejudice.

"What do you think of the story?"

Perhaps life might have been different if these two individuals would have experienced a reversal…But no. Thinking such a way was a waste of time; the bookman looked for facts and reality, not what ifs. So he simply wondered why the story had been told.

Though for all the intelligence he naturally possessed, he was stubborn and inexperienced. "I think it was a story of two individuals that shared the same territory, but took different approaches to sustaining themselves.

"What do you think of the point?" Bookman knows he is smart enough to know there is always a point.

"It was…" And he stops because he does not know the point and it frustrates him because he always knows and Bookman has always been blunt with him as far as he's concerned.

"We have much to do." Bookman simply leaves it at that.

He had never really understood that. Why Bookman had told him just that story he never knew. Never again had Bookman pulled a story from his lips without explaining the origin or even why it was important enough to say. It was almost surreal.

So he grows and observes people, places, and things.

"History, is just the perception of our minds of what we are unable to relive. But everyone remembers history differently from others. So in this way history is in fact diverse in its interpretations. But like all stories, there is always an origin and we will find that origin whether it has happened or has not."

"The truth." The child states, because he is smart like that, with his instincts so sharp that sometimes even Bookman worries that he will cut himself someday.

"What is the truth?"

"Things that happen from the point of view of a non-bias opinion. Which is Fact."

And Bookman is silent because he has nothing he should say. And his junior can take that lack of answer in any way he wants.

The child with a head as wild and controlled as the mane of a fiery lion stood gazed in the field of golden purity and he thinks he will never again see such a sight of wind defining the freedom of earth with sounds of subtle life and smells that embraced his senses.

Colors untouched by man were taken in and the child holds this because from then on he would only see the world of black and white without radiance of calm and peace.

~~*

"What is the definition of fact?"

"Reality."

"What is the definition of opinion?"

"Fabricated views."

"Are you able to tell the truth from lies?"

"…Yes." He kept the tone that should imply it was obvious he could because he was the pupil and as much as he hated anything to suggest he was stupid; he knew his place with Bookman enough.

"We go to another place where you will see things and have to wonder if you ever saw them to begin with. Be mindful of your place and remember everything you experience."

"Sounding a bit more on philosophic lately aren't we Gramps?" It was unlike Bookman to speak like this; usually he was so blunt and factual. Deak hadn't known what to think of it and that annoyed him somewhat.

Bookman, despite being a few feet shorter, managed to stare him down and make him feel like a child in times he really shouldn't or even intended to (sometimes junior even wondered if Bookman was aware of his own effect on his charge). "Think well on what you know and don't know....Lavi. Let's move on."

_Everything in this coming time will be about philosophy, most of all your own. _

But Bookman refused to say this because he was subtle in his ways and meanings when he could help it and this was one thing his junior would have to learn on his own.

Even if that meant destruction for what he had worked for.

~~~*

He's tired and aches, but he is fine enough to keep moving. He doesn't want to get left behind after all.

He was good at that

He is Lavi now, and as with every new face he puts together he revolves it around a certain characteristic, friendly in this case, and lets it evolve on it's own as he gets used to the people and places around him. It's somewhat different every time even if he is going for the same face since he has learned people in different circumstances can respond to different styles of the same thing. So he observed through Lavi's eyes and ticked himself a little here and there so as to find himself in the best level of friendly ness that was not too destructive and not to subtle. It was a little more difficult then before since being a soldier was a new experience for him. But Lavi eventually got the hang of it rather quickly and that made him and Bookman content.

"How come you never change personalities or names like I do?" He had asked Bookman once, before becoming Lavi.

He remembers, of course the whole conversation, it's tucked away in the back of his mind with all the other memory's he doesn't need for the moment. But he can recall the pint that he had finally managed to drag out of a tired Bookman who obviously hadn't cared that much to begin with.

"I have made my philosophy known to me in mind and soul and therefore I can do anything without losing myself to others."

"…What do you mean?"

"You will learn… later. For now concentrate on your work."

He doesn't know what his Master means, and it will tick at him forever until he finds a conclusion.

For now, in the present job he would just watch through Lavi's eyes and gather everything he could from this environment.

Which wasn't so bad, Lavi was a pretty entertaining persona. Usually he hadn't really got to interact this much with others in a way that allowed him to grab their attention in amusing ways even if it were at their expense.

After all he had Innocence; he was too priceless to toss away just because he could be annoying. Otherwise there would be no more exorcists if that were the case from what he had seen.

So Kanda Yu's, or Yu-Chan as he liked to put it, dismayed scowls would have to keep suffering him.

To bad for the Asian that he never realized that as soon he would stop reacting so much then so would Lavi with the torment due to boredom.

Ah well, the price of being stupid, no offense meant. All humans had it.

He never would have to worry about that himself.

~~~*

He supposed being a comrade had to do with it.

It was a mentality that they all, if not most had.

It was kind of funny at first. In the end they were just ink, so seeing ink valued beings walking around talking and such gave some amusing images in his head. It made him realize what a capable imagination he had that could extend outside his work. Kind of reminded him of those weird, what do you see in the ink blob tests.

He wasn't sure what he saw, but it was different from a mass of thoughtless blob, kind of controlled but messy he assumed was a good definition. It had shape and later he found substance.

It was interesting because he found something lingering in his mind, an old proverb that Bookman often recited.

_Do not trust second hand information. The source is the only way to receive it._

A good example being the Garden of Eden where Eve took the fruit (common misconception about it being a apple, sometimes it hurt the poor bookman soul to see so many awful translations of historical pieces of work) from the serpent despite warnings not to. Many, both believers and unbelievers have pondered of this tale and wondered why she took it, which for the bookman apprentice found dumb because he once you studied it made complete sense, or at least could understand why to an extent. Besides the fact that she was perfect but didn't have everything (as the serpent, aka the devil, told her) and so like all humans she just had to have it.

But also, she had not heard it from God's own mouth. God had told Adam not to touch the tree, and after Eve had been made Adam had told her. Which when you look at it, the command to not have the fruit of damnation must have seemed less awe looking when your naked husband told you instead of hearing it from God yourself. But whatever, point taken.

Bookman never settled for second best. The origin of time and place must be witnessed from ones eyes alone. Hearing or seeing it from other sources may lead to disaster or confusion on ones part to truly understand the significance of history in the making.

So he watched and participated as much as he could find excuses to without seeming to random or questionable.

He met people, went to places, and saw history being made.

Though this time instead of just recording events, he actually recorded something that was not just in the actions of people, but the motivation behind the actions. Philosophy, he has come to piece together on the puzzle board, a double edged pen. You may write certain words down in a book, and those words could either caress or scorch you depending how you react on how others will read them back to you.

People saw philosophy as is or is not. Throughout history people have lived and died for and because of glory or delusion. Ones own philosophy is determined by the actions and responses of each individual.

He wasn't sure why that was as big of a shock as it was. He's seen wars and battles and seen why such actions were made. But in this life, as a soldier, he actually had them as well. Maybe that was the difference? Having a philosophy that he felt strongly about.

And it wasn't until he saw the blood on the bamboo floor with a lone card that he didn't start to understand what Bookman had been waiting for him to know.

The bookman, must experience every life and name they possibly can. In order to find their own truth and overcome all other philosophies of the world, for one can not simply be Bookman on just vast knowledge of history and skills from the world alone. Bookman must They must be able to spend time in any environment for however long and still know that their own ways, thoughts, and duties are still correct and worth always obeying without a second thought.

That the Bookman philosophy is the only true constant in this world of change and repeats.

"Bookman don't have hearts."

Hearts are such treacherous and sad things, especially for ones so young. Changing and tempting with things so sweet that what is most important to you becomes buried deep within to never be felt.

"What is the damage?"

"…Three Finders dead, the Innocence was lost."

"Ah, Lavi I was asking about your body?" Komui's professional tone laced with gentleness cut him off before he went to far into soldier report mode.

"Oh, besides a twisted wrist just a few broken ribs, I should be fine soon enough. Don't worry. How are Allen and Lenalee?"

Komui's smile tightened a little, but his eyes softened just before the shine of his glasses became like closed curtains. "They're fine. Rest assured. Allen got the brunt of it but he's awaken already and now back to sleep in his own room now with Inspector Link watching over him as always. Lenalee just received a mild concussion and possibly a few broken fingers. I suspect you'll see them again before I do."

Something ticked in Lavi's mind; Komui was different, more so then usual. It was a…surreal thing. Komui was never done fighting was he? In some ways he knew. He wasn't blind to how large organizations worked. History alone had taught him that. It was common for groups and cliques of sorts to be formed with their own clashing ideals despite all grasping for the same goal. Komui had to handle much of the world upon his shoulders. Even when in reality his world possibly was not so different from his Sister? Not that he knew. It made him slightly, anxious. He didn't know as much as he thought about this man who protected him so much, but what bothered him the most was that he did not know as much as he wanted to know.

Before, he had never known there was a difference.

Bookman should not have hearts.

"Komui!" He shouted a little more then he wanted to and did not take offense to the slight surprise his officer regarded him as he was about to leave.

"Does it have value, what you need and want?"

The Chinese man regarded him with a still air, Komui always knew more then he let on and shouldered more sins that never should have been his to begin with.

"Because…I know, I may not have the knowledge of them…but I still know…" He feels deliriously drunk and tired now, but it's a good tired sort of. And he does not look to see Komui's probably rightful shocked or confused expression over his strange and out of character outburst that would have suited Allen or Lenalee more.

Bookman do not have hearts.

"It means something, to me…it does."

But humans still have them. Lavi has one. Something that… Lavi still can't grasp the true significance for himself into words.

"Just rest Lavi, We'll see you when you decide to wake up again." The words flow easily in as the room disappears and he thinks he sees light instead of black as a pleasure caressed his body when he thought he felt a touch on his forehead.

He knows it and for once he will let that be a good enough until he's not so tired and has no idea the image of Komui looking like ghost with his white clothing made him feel desperate..

~~*

_When he awoke, as in he became more aware of his surroundings after a few seconds disorient visuals clouding him, he saw a simple texture of blue and red that coexisted with each other without compromising the other by blending…. _

The war was over…

_He holds his hand, not breathing or crying. Skin melted and flaking as if it were a flower that had been licked and toyed with the power to grant and steal time by the fires of the darkest depths for being able bloom till oblivion struck its cord. A deeper black then he even knew could not feel anymore scorch against his spirit. _

I didn't know, I wouldn't know, I didn't want to face it….

_The daybreak is coming and the autumn colored dyed light in the winter sky shows so much and reflects deeply in his eye and he can only feel that this reflection was so insincere. _

I want to know a sunset colored a certain type of blue.

_Wincing, he turned his head and shut his eyes even though the scene was over and never had been in front of him. _

_His mind is racing and he does not know his destination other then he knows what he must do even if it was not what he should do._

_Protocols and the determination to follow were the rivers that shined like the Milky Way in his mind. _

Knowledge, humans could be so blind to it. Not the existence of it, though sometimes even that seemed to be too hard to grasp for humanity. There were several levels and depths to the existence known as knowledge and one can not simply attain it, but also accept it for what it is without human taint. Through out history humans have always forsaken or misunderstood the precious ness of knowledge. Always claiming one thing and yet ignoring the truth even when it stares them down like a hungry fox into the eyes of a hare.

_Why do they do that?_

_Do what?_

_Always assume their own stupidity is in the right and never acknowledging what is supposed to be real? They always kill knowledge in their minds or never seek it even though it's always available. Why?_

_Because…_

"Are you afraid of being devoured?"

He looks, but the voice only whispers and he is alone in a sea of man.

It was a voice from so long ago. One he thought would never leave him. It was a funny thing. Not too humorous, not too dark. Somehow he thinks that's how he's always been. He wasn't going to break into hysterics, he would admit, it was surreal almost without the old man. But that cynical side of him reminded him always that this was what had to be. Because there can never be more then one_ Bookman_.

Granted, he still needed to close that chapter. But at the moment it was not yet the time to read that far ahead.

So he didn't move, he just carried on and knew like all history lessons, an era must always end so a new one could begin.

This was his era now, his time.

He had walked for so long and at it felt as if nothing had aged him.

He ran away before, but he wants to go back and see once again for himself what he considered his part of life.

Because this too had meaning and he thinks it belongs in his philosophy that he is trying to form.

_Lavi, why are you leaving?" _

"_You, everyone there were never important enough to me." _

He winces, recalling that one moment he has naturally never forgotten, thinking maybe she'd have cried or tried to hit him if he hadn't fled – not that he wouldn't deserve it. He's not a blunt person, but he is a tactless one. Never far from saying what's on his mind when he is not focusing on acting one certain way.

As he rounds the church he feels a wave of nostalgia for meeting someone who actually expected him.

She was here, despite how he left her before, or even whatever reaction she gave him, he was still happy on some level that he would see her again.

Her hair is longer now, past her shoulders flowing about halfway down her back. The hair is loose and not in pig-tails like he would have imagined it would be when it came to be around that length again. Instead it's in a ponytail not unlike a certain captain who went down with her ship so long ago.

His own hair is getting to be around shoulder length making him look like a scoundrel almost due to not having to be in the circumstances of more scrutinizing company in the last several months.

Tugging his locks, he eyed away from the sitting figure in front of him. She blinks, not being able to recognize his features for one thought after so long without seeing him despite already knowing who he is. She then nods to herself as if confirming his identity to herself and then tugs on his sleeve delicately to ask permission for him to sit down. Which he does because his mind is itching the way it usual does when faced with phenomena's he's actually paying attention to with intuitiveness instead of just with an eye for detail.

It's been a while he says with a chuckle and wants to comment on her lack of skin showing because of the too much clothing covering her but feels slight unease tinting his bones as she silently searches his face with unwavering resolve.

"…I met a boy once" She begins with a sage like voice he knew was in the same category of Gramps when ever speaking something he didn't want him to push to the back of his mind. "I thought I knew him, but I really knew nothing about him as a person."

Forcing the corners of his lips up into a half smile he asked "Really?" And he feels a bad taste grow in his mouth for just how much he is unable to say any more.

"Yeah" She's patient, and he's surprised because while she has shown to have the patience of a saint, she can also have the temper and wrath of a monster wave that can be unleashed so easily just when you think you're safe and dry.

"I hated him for that, leaving me…but I wasn't as angry with him as I was with myself."

"You…?"

"I didn't know his problems, I…felt bad. It wasn't his fault. His secrets were his own. But I…loved him very much just like all my friends, the ones that mattered most to me."

"I wanted to apologize to him," She continued after catching a breath. "For not noticing more, for being fooled, despite having some suspicions. I didn't want to hurt him, because I too had things better left in the shadows, and I knew what it was like to be selfish like that with myself."

"Hey, Lenalee…that's enough, it's okay. You should be the last person to feel bad about anything." He feels stretch out, He hates making her sad and being here seems to do that. But at the same time this surreal atmosphere does not feel so horrible, so he can tuck away the instincts to run more easily since he doesn't want to run away from this woman like last time no matter what happens..

She looks at him for a long time before she fingers her pocket and brings out his letter. "I was surprised when I got this from you. At first I didn't know what to think. It had no name, no address, and I had no idea where it came from." She fingered the edges of the carefully kept letter that held the yellow letter. "But then, I think I remembered something, the way you walked into my life, was a lot like this letter, it came like the wind with no direction but always seemed to know where it wanted to be, more or less."

He didn't really have an answer for that, at least not one he felt like giving. Despite not feeling uncomfortable, he did not ignore the awkward air between them and that made him itch a little from the old habit of never knowing where something was going. His chest feels so damned up.

"Even though there...a lot of times...it hurt. I knew....wanted to hope that you would come, I always believed in you, the you I considered a friend. Because I knew whatever you were doing or whoever you were being, I knew I couldn't make myself believe that you were just a lie. That's why…" She trailed off, looking as dazed as she had since he had come as if she were talking to a memory instead of the real thing.

He looks at her, she turns to him, looking old and yet still just the same as before. She was the same, and yet she was different. Just like him, perhaps.

"…." She opens her mouth, as if she wants to say something, but closes it after consideration before speaking again. "You can say it, I know, I'm here." It's the least she could do for him, let this be about him, not her.

And suddenly like someone had hit a switch, the feeling in his chest cracked and busted open like a tidal of water.

"I-I panicked. I was suppose to be recording Allen, his journey as the prophecy in flesh till his final moments in the war, but Yu was there, hardly breathing and bleeding black with his hair falling out and, I- it was like I blinked and time passed and before I even realized it… I lost them both. I never said goodbye to either; even though Yu was right there…"

"It's alright" Lenalee evenly replies, though there are cracks in her voice. "You shouldn't feel-"

"Don't tell me what to feel!" He quietly cut her off in mid sentence. He was not shouting, he was remembering. His voice almost like a recording sounded calm, but one who was aware of him knew the storm that lay behind his voice breaking through. "I even failed as a bookman out there…. I was suppose to record the Destroyer of Time and yet I couldn't even believe in something Bookman himself did…" sniffling he added "Back then I I thought I was never a true bookman, just a fraud, like a little kid stuck in my own fantasy of something I wanted more then anything else and yet never could back up my words like a man should." Why Bookman had given him the name, he remembered having pondered hopelessly to himself.

Hearing a heavy breath, he doesn't even need to see her face to confirm his theory.

_I always made the good girls cry, but never in the feel good way. That had been more Allen's and Komui's specialty. _He thought

"Lavi, you are an absolute idiot." Lenalee shakes herself a little, tossing some hair out of place and he looks up when he sees the wind blow passed them in a way that makes her hair shield her plum moist eyes. Even after so many years she can still feel so much, and yet she has become so much more like fortitude. He's not sure what to feel about that, but he is grateful for his own sake that she is not becoming violent with him yet like she would have when she was younger.

"Do you really think…that you were the only one to not believe in something like that? Even about Allen?"

When she got no response she continued with light tone that did not betray the weight of her words.

"I too, couldn't believe in the Destroyer of Time….because doing that would mean…not believing in Allen. Just a title, not a friend; I couldn't do that; make him out to be just a forgotten legend like in those stories you always hear about all the time when you were young. It was just too sad, I didn't want to believe he could be more than human, because then he wouldn't belong, would have to be in a place where we were unable to reach him even if we were right by his side…"

"Lavi…"

"…" He shifts, but somehow doesn't bring himself to feel shock or surprise over the name he hasn't been called by any whom he knew way back in the days of Innocence and loss.

"I was wrong…and so were you…"

She's not as reserved as she usually was so long ago, he finds at this, and it almost surprises that she is being so open about her feelings to him of all people like this more then what she is saying now.

A memory, from before he left that pulsing night in the hospital.

"_So…Allen is dead?"_

_Her silence was not comforting._

_Her eyes widened a little with realization, he had never known with his own eyes, never found out, never closed the door on Allen. _

_She wanted to say something._

"_Don't. Please"_

_She bit back a retort, because he needed it, needed this. And she would not get angry at him unless he fell down into an abyss of his own making. She was tired and didn't even know if Komui was alright, and right now Lavi was the one thing she needed to stay alive for both their sakes. _

_The red haired man stood up, a little shakily, and walked a little down before sitting behind a unmarked grave with his back turned to her. She couldn't see his expression, as he rested his right arm on his propped up knee and tossed his head up to look up to the sky mixing with colors of blues before night came._

_She saw darkness and slept into the abyss without her consent before he could._

They were done for tonight, and it was night as neither had acknowledged.

Wordlessly she invited him into her home for the rest of the night.

When he awoke in the strange bed he set out quickly, not bothering to see his appearance, and went out to where his instincts told him to go. Because as much as he value knowledge, he knew his own intelligence was what had kept him alive when knowledge could be found no where.

When he walks across the soils of the containing the old and new he breathes in the smell of it all with a familiar nostalgia of paranoia that even now he still can't abandon after so long after the period of when it was necessary. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, wishing his hammer wasn't gone like wishing for a friend.

"You're here…"

He turns and is greeted by the sight of the still Chinese figure sitting seemingly ever so comfortably is not from the way she held her body language together he would not have the confidence to think he could surprise her.

"You look better than yesterday, your eyes I mean. They don't have large bags under them." She's still not smiling, but something in her mannerisms make her look a little brighter to him. She has some scissors in hand, and wordlessly he sits in front of her with his back turned, trusting her to work the way he wants her to. She always had a good sixth sense on what people needed.

_I'm sorry…_ Is what he has always wanted to say to her out loud, but never would for he would not insult her in such, or anyway ever with any actual meaning to.

She moves in front of him, kneeling so she can cut his bangs. She looks at him and her eyes are clear and shaper then Yu's sword ever was as she captured, clung, and completely engulfed his gaze in a way no woman ever did no matter how many lives he convinced himself to perform.

He thinks he may be bleeding her in.

She's not smiling, she's serious. Always that way, always has been, for as long he knew.

He thinks he should act differently, say something he doesn't want to say because it's not true. He has before lived a life of nothing but lies in order to find the buried naked truth.

Lies will always be found by the truth in the end.

Just like the how the Grim Reaper will always find your untimely death in the times when the more you wish the opposite for.

But… he can't. Because people like her, Allen, Yu… have taught him how to not just seek the truth, but _see it_ as well. And once he has seen and acknowledged the truth he knows he can never deny it to himself no matter how many names he could ever take.

He's been broken beyond repair. Or maybe he was actually fixed to the point of unbreakable. He's not too sure which would be more appropriate.

She pulls back and stands up, metal device in hand with some stubborn red hair cling to her chapped hands.

He is still kneeling down the cold wet snowy ground of late December because he does not want to look down on her from where she sits and wonders if she is cold in just her simple white dress that reached all the way down to her ankles (a sight he is not used to on her and barely refrains himself from the temptation from stating so out of pure habit for he knows now is not the time anymore) despite the lack of shivers he saw from her slight frame.

The sun is high and the sky is active with fields of clouds rolling and tumbling along with the bossy and yet playful wind.

It doesn't look like it will snow today.

He's not looking at her face, can't bring himself to right now. Instead he stares at her leg with morbid interest recalling memories that had been tucked away for so long in a little safe that would always be secure from any thief that would attempt to steal them. She's still not talking. She's mad, maybe upset? Or maybe she's waiting to see if he will be the one to speak first and break the silence. He actually can't tell and back when he was younger he had thought he had always been good at judging people. Though growing up in the Order for that short amount of time had taught him otherwise and humbled him in learning that judging people and being a _good_ judge of people were entirely two different things.

"Do you regret it… ever?" She finally asks so softly in to the wind it almost can not be heard.

"Lenalee…" He says evenly, trying to force himself to not play the desirable actor out of a defense mechanism for times of his own unsure ness.

"_Don't worry about it; it's not a big deal."_

"_You're wrong! It is a big deal…"_

_Stupid… You're so stupid…_

"I…" And suddenly he can not possibly find the words he wants to match his feelings.

"No" He says, and he means it.

She combines a hum and sighs all in one in her way of acknowledging his answer.

"Lenalee" He speaks in a soft tone.

"You said Yu."

"What?" he manages to blurt out after a foggy six and a half seconds. It was so random. And she had said it, almost cheerfully. A complete different air from before seemed to emit from her that he did not understand.

"Yesterday…" She drawled out, almost teasing despite the reserve ness she still held. "When you were talking, you called Kanda Yu, just like you used to. And so I called you Lavi, which you still reacted to."

"Oh…" Was the only thing he could say and feeling rather dumb about it.

"Lavi, even now after so much time, your still my Lavi. Our Lavi. I'm still uncertain about a few things, mad to. But I'm happy that you still feel something for names."

He is silent, mulling over a few things, before he addresses her.

"Names were always something I never thought about as more then just numbers. Just things that could always be multiplied and subtracted; never knew the deal was with both Yuu and Allen over reacting so much over their names in the ways they did…." At this he gave a quirky half smile with the years of wear and tear drooping a bit for the memories that were so alive. "But…I think I've decided, in my own way that's just mine, what's important to me in a name."

"Bookman, he….he had his own ideals…his own philosophy about what was right and wrong for him. I always tried to be just like him even though when coming to the Order it felt like drowning in mud I couldn't get out of. I felt like his philosophies were killing me, and somehow without even realizing it, I was making my own philosophies. Ones that I knew were right for me that would set me free and save me instead of condemning me."

He feels good; there is no other way to describe it. He stands and he smiles at her like she is smiling at him. It was selfish and maybe horrible of him to just swoop into her life like this. But he was grateful and wouldn't change it.

"Nice hair," he remarks, ruffling it around, it feels shorter, still shaggy but he likes the length. "Best I've had in a long time." _Thanks…_

"It needed a woman's touch." _You're welcome._ "Remember that the next time, okay."

"I never forget anything, specially about women." He grins; it's easy to talk like this.

"You're going?"

"Yeah, I have my own path I want to make. I have no regrets" He doesn't apologize, because as…nostalgic and perhaps lonely it makes him feel, he thinks he's not putting it behind him so much as he is letting it stand by him.

"Can't say I'm happy, I missed you. But I'm glad you're not regretful. I've always hoped you would be happy where ever you are even if I did wish at times that I could go and find you wherever it was you were and drag you back by the ear if I had to for a proper talk."

"Really"

"Of course, did you think I would have let anything stopped me if I felt I should." She smiled with a smile so bright for a minute it reminded him of Komui's. Not when he was pretending, but the smiles when he actually meant it. If anyone ever doubted the Lee sibling's relation, all they would need to see was their smiles and just how eerily the same they were.

"Yeah… you're right" And he smiled and then acted on an impulse. "Lenalee, I want to share something with you, I've never done it with anyone before, but you…I really want to share this with you." He tells her a story of his time with the men of books. He leaves out many things, because really there were some secrets better left that way for those without the bookman blood in their veins. But he told her his story, his story that would not be written down and by the end of it he lifts her hand touch the eye under his eye patch.

She is a little startled by what she sees, and widens her eyes like a child seeing a new sight that seems so impossible but divine. "Aren't you…isn't this breaking the rules though, from what you told me about this…secret?"

"I never break the rules my lady, I only bend and create them." He chirped with a smile she found as sweet and out of reach as holy morning and like the wind he flew to his hearts content all the while carrying her scent and all those before her in his essence.

~~~*

He walks as he travels, finally ready to face a thing he should have considered gone forever in a place forgotten by time. .

"Hey Gramps…"

_I want to know something. What is the definition of living without any prejudices? _

…_Cause I'm the one who is supposed to know this better then anyone and yet…I have no idea what that means or even how to go about it…_

**End of (1/2)**

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**Notes***

Well this was going to be a Lavi/Lenalee piece originally because I wanted to see what it was like to write about that pairing. But somehow it got more plot and became less about the pairing and more about Lavi. So in the end its just good ole gen I guess. Don't get me wrong, I like this pair in a fandom sense (if written well) even though I don't support it in canon. They can have interesting chemistry together and for the longest time I've wanted to try my hand at writing it (but I failed!).

I'm hoping I got their characterization good enough and/or at least within the possible realm of IC. I wasn't to sure considering this is all taking place after the war so of course by then they've gone through or developed some as they became adults. They're still the same people, just older.

I promise the next (last) chapter will be shorter. Gramps is tired.


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